Salvation
by chibiness87
Summary: Tag for s.20, ep 5 pt 2 (awakening). Because how could I not? SPOILERS! T for language. One shot.


**Salvation** , by **chibiness87**  
Rated: **T.** Language.  
 **Spoilers: 20.5.2 – DO NOT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU HAVE SEEN AWAKENING PT 2!**

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A/N: Dear BBC. What, in the general of all fuck, was that last scene?! This is my attempt to make it so Jack does not go and top himself after the ending of this truly heart wrenching episode where he thinks she is dead! This was churned out in a matter of minutes after watching tonights episode. It is not beta'd. And yes, I know I have left Tipping Point for a while… I do intend to finish it. I just got a little lost along the way.

Disclaimer: I would not have left it there!

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They have brought all of those who were buried alive with them back to the compound when it happens. Everyone else is so _happy_ , so _pleased_ to find everyone is alive, and if not well, at least they have the _alive_ to fall back on.

Jack has none of this.

He has a phone that, no matter how many times he has tried in the past few minutes, hours, no longer connects to the woman he swore he would find.

He sits alone in a darkened room, barely holding himself together. And yeah, cliché much, but he really, really doesn't care.

About much of anything.

Not anymore.

Because Nikki Alexander died this day.

"What happened to your hands?"

He looks up at the rough voice, to see Nikki ( _impossible_ , his minds tells him, _impossible_ ), worn torn and haggard, sitting across from him.

He blinks, taking a moment to study her.

She is barefoot, and has a nasty looking cut along her right cheekbone. The redness stands out against her pale face. Her hair is matted, streaked with dirt.

She smells like the ocean.

Jack wants to cry.

He has been alone for the past few hours, unable to think through a dense fog that has surrounded him. He has failed. He wasn't quick enough, wasn't smart enough to see through her bullshit and misdirection and talk about toxins and realise she couldn't have been at the scrap yard.

She had killed a scorpion.

He should have fucking known. She would tease him about getting lost in the details later.

Except no, she won't.

Because she is dead.

And it's all his fault.

And now, to top off this truly craptacular day, he's hallucinating.

Brilliant.

He wants a cigarette. (He wants Nikki to be alive.)

"Jack?"

The hallucination brushes her hand over his split knuckles. Knuckles bloodied and bruised and quite possibly broken after he had punched a concrete wall.

Repeatedly.

It hadn't brought her back.

Nothing will bring her back.

Because he has failed.

Clarissa and Thomas will never forgive him.

That's ok; he won't ever forgive himself either.

The brush of her hand over his is so clear in his mind he can almost feel the contact she would have made if she was there.

She always cared too much.

Especially about him.

And now she as dead.

"Jack?"

He gives the hallucination a tied smile. Well, he tries to. But he doesn't feel much like smiling, so it comes out more of a grimace. He watches as her own lip quirk up at the corner for a moment in response.

She was always doing that.

She is so real, so present, he cannot help but respond with a soft sigh. "Nothing, Nikki. It's nothing."

(It's proof of his failure.)

In his mind, Nikki is cradling his hand now in hers, running the pads of her fingers over the abrasions.

"This needs to be looked at. God, Jack, what did you do?"

He can't look at her. It's all too much. He knows her too well, can picture this scene too vividly. It makes his heart ache. He screws his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.

It's a futile act.

"Jack?"

He feels the pad of her finger as it traces away the moisture he can no longer contain. The slight dryness of his cheek lasts for only a moment before another tear has replaced it.

Which makes no sense.

None.

Because Nikki isn't here, and didn't wipe away his tear, so how did his cheek become dry?

He blinks his eyes open to see her concerned face staring intently at him. Her hand is supporting his head, and he can feel it.

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh Jesus Mary Joseph fucking hell shit shit crap fuck fuck fu- "Nikki?" (Is that his voice? Timid and meek and a whisper of a hope, a prayer?)

And then again, because holy fucking shit she isn't a figment of his imagination, she's here; she's here and alive and not dead or buried and he has to ask again, has to check, because this, is this _real_?

" _Nikki?"_

She gives him a broken smile, before dissolving into tears herself. Her arms come up around him, and yes, she is worn torn and her hair is a mess and she smells like the ocean but she's here and alive and he's so overcome with feelings he can't even begin to name and there is a pressure on his chest which means he can't fucking breathe but he doesn't care, _doesn't care_ , because Nikki is alive.

So he does the only thing he can do, and pulls her closer. And he suddenly finds himself being clung to as much as he clings to her.

Her grip on him is so strong any air he thought he had is crushed out of his lungs. He relishes in it. Because it means she is alive.

Jesus fucking shit, he's going to be sick.

"You… you're… but how? I… the air…" And then her name again, this time more timid than he's ever known himself to be, almost, still not quite daring to believe. "Nikki?"

Her name is just about the limit of his vocabulary at the moment.

He finds he really, really cannot be bothered to care.

"Jack."

She sighs his name like it's a benediction, before burrowing closer to his chest.

Her voice is his salvation.

The pressure in his chest begins to loosen.

The fog is lifting.

He can breathe again.

Because Nikki Alexander did not die this day.

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End.


End file.
